The Last Scabbard of Akrash
by Dibellan Arts
Summary: When Peliah, heiress to the House Dres slave-dealing dynasty of Morrowind, falls in love with one of her father's khajiiti slaves, the bodies of her dunmer suitors begin to turn up mysteriously decapitated. Some call the killer "The Lopper." But Peliah prefers to call him "The Liberator." [Based on the in-game book appearing in Skyrim, Morrowind, and Oblivion]
1. Chapter 1

Based on the book _The Last Scabbard of Akrash, Story of a Slaver's Daughter and Her Khajiiti Lover_, appearing in _Skyrim_,_ Oblivion_, and_ Morrowind._

Rated M for intense violence and sexual content.

* * *

1

The first time Peliah laid eyes on Kazagh, she was eight years old.

It was her birthday. Her father had invited lads and lasses from all of the great houses in Tear for a grand party.

Peliah didn't like them. They were loud. Whenever she tried to speak to them, they would simply talk over her out with their high, jabbering voices. And if there was one thing that Peliah couldn't stand, it was high, jabbering voices.

She had always been an odd child. She preferred to spend her time reading or sitting quietly. Her bright red eyes were almost too large for her face and she rarely spoke, except to ask questions. She was always curious.

The other children weren't particularly fond of her, either. When she chose not to argue with them, it annoyed them. She just didn't fit in. The lads and lasses only came to her birthday party because their parents forced them to. It would be rude to refuse a noblewoman's party invitation—especially one of House Dres. She would be very rich when she grew up, lording over a vast estate with hundreds upon hundreds of slaves. It would never do to burn bridges with such a figure, the grown-ups said.

Still, the lads and lasses did not like her. They did their best to ignore her, shouting and tearing around the garden where several large tables were set up, heaped with cake and candy. Peliah did her best to ignore them as well, though it was significantly more difficult—particularly when young Soron Jeles came flying around the corner of one table and crashed right into her.

Soron leered at her, sprang up, and dashed away. Peliah got to her feet slowly. She felt like crying for a second, but decided against it. _I'm not hurt,_ she reasoned. _Crying doesn't make any sense when you're not hurt._

She often thought that way. Rather than flouting what was on her mind like everyone else she knew, she preferred to absorb information, process it, and plan. Rarely did she speak or act without thinking about it first.

She grabbed a piece of bread from a silver platter and munched on it quietly, observing the bedlam with subtle distaste. Soron was shouting about something and brandishing a wooden sword. He tackled Ulani, a member of House Dres and a cousin of Peliah's. She screamed shrilly and set about striking him on the head with her tiny gray fist. Meanwhile the other children whooped and crowed, circling the brawlers and betting on the outcome of the disagreement.

Suddenly something brushed Peliah's knee.

She started and looked down. Something was moving beneath the tablecloth. There was someone under the table!

Peliah glanced around to see if anyone was watching. Then she bent over and lifted the edge of the tablecloth.

A pair of giant green eyes met hers. A khajiit boy crouched there, trembling. His ears were pressed flat against his head and as Peliah stared at him, his pupils dilated with fear.

Peliah cocked her head. She'd only seen a handful of khajiit in her life, in spite the fact that they'd cooked her meals, washed her clothes, and cleaned her room since the day she was born. He father had always said that a good slave was never be seen or heard unless he was called upon. With their soft voices and soft paws, his khajiiti slaves had stayed out of his way easily enough, and Peliah's too. Until now, anyway.

The boy drew his lips into a frightened grimace. He seemed to waiting for something—what that something was, Peliah wasn't sure.

She peeked up over the table. The other children were still engrossed in Soron and Ulani's fight. Surely they wouldn't notice if she disappeared for a minute or two.

She knelt down in grass. "What are you doing here?" she asked in a high, calm voice.

The boy swallowed nervously, his eyes flashing. "Khajiit o-only wanted to see the party," he rasped. "Please forgive him, Sera! He did not mean to be impertinent. He will go away now! Please do not tell!"

The tiny elven maiden could only stare. Everyone at the party, including her, would rather be almost anywhere else. But this khajiit was willing to hide under the table just for a glimpse of it.

"Why?" she asked.

The boy looked confused. "W-Why what, Sera?"

"Why did you want to see the party?"

"Because of all the sweet smells," he said, eyebrows pulling together. Wasn't it obvious? "And the toys. And the games."

Peliah frowned. She hadn't really thought of it that way. Toys and sweets were a part of her everyday life.

"But khajiit didn't take anything, Sera!" the boy said when he saw that Peliah was frowning. "No, no, khajiit would die before he took the sweet smelling things that the mother made for Sera's special party."

Again, Peliah was surprised. "Your mother made all these treats?"

The boy nodded, wondering if his mother's situation might get him out of the storm of trouble that was sure to follow. "Yes, Sera, all. She is the baker."

"What do you do?" she chirped. She could hardly contain her curiosity.

The boy shivered. Was she questioning his usefulness? Was she going to tell her father sell him? Surely they would not be so cruel as to separate him from his mother!

"Khajiit does lots of things around the kitchen," he said in a rush. "Khajiit is running errands and peeling ash yams. He is lighting fires and sweeping and dusting and mopping. He is a good slave."

Peliah looked at him carefully. She could see the fear in his eyes, but she didn't understand it. She didn't like that. Above all, she wanted to understand—to _know_ things. It made her feel stronger than the people who didn't know things. So she asked, "Why are you afraid?"

If the boy was confused before, now he was completely perplexed. What did Sera mean by asking him about his feelings? He had never heard of such a thing before.

"Because Khajiit was seen," he said warily.

Peliah looked around again. The other children were still squabbling.

"Only by me," she said, "and I'm not going to tell the others."

"What about Muthsera, the father?" the boy asked, shivering at the very thought. He had heard stories from the other slaves of the cruelty of Dres Minegaur.

The little maiden thought about it for a minute. "I won't tell Papa if you don't want me to," she said slowly. _Besides, there's nothing in it for me if I tell him_, she thought to herself.

The little khajiit's body relaxed. His whiskers drooped with relief. "Oh, thank you, Sera! Thank you!"

"Why are you afraid of him?"

The boy bit his lip. Was it possible that the little Sera didn't know? Or was this some kind of trap? His mother had told him never to trust the dunmer overlords. Yet there was something different about this girl. She was quiet and calm. And when she'd discovered him, she hadn't screamed and called attention to the fact that he was there—which was what he had expected her to do.

"Because Khajiit will be punished," he finally said. "Muthsera will tie khajiit up by the arms and whip him like Kuu'njo and Saar. The mother said. But this one didn't listen." The boy shook his head remorsefully.

Peliah's mouth fell open. Her papa, whip someone? It couldn't be true.

"You're lying," she said in a low voice. Her mouth trembled. "My papa wouldn't whip anybody."

"Khajiit has seen," the boy said. He could see that he had angered her, but it was the truth. He couldn't take it back now.

The girl plopped onto the ground, dazed. _Don't cry,_ she thought. _Crying would get everyone's attention. He must be lying. But why would he? If he were trying to stay out of trouble, he'd try to make friends with me. He must be telling the truth._

The little girl looked into the khajiit's eyes. "I… think I believe you," she said in a quiet voice.

The boy considered for a moment. "Khajiit is sorry," he said. He was intuitive enough to understand that this revelation about her father had upset her.

"Why are you apologizing? It's not your fault," the girl said, cocking her head to the side.

The boy shrugged.

"What is your name?" Peliah asked.

"Kazagh," the little khajiit said.

"That's… funny."

"It is a khajiiti name," Kazagh said defensively.

"Well I'm Peliah," the girl said. She smiled. "It's a dunmer name."

Kazagh smiled back at her. His round little face with the stubby ears and wide eyes was transformed. He looked cute. "It's still a funny name."

Peliah giggled.

"Peliah!" her father's voice called from the edge of the garden, "it's time for presents! Where are you?"

Peliah sprang to her feet. "Right here, Papa!" she called.

Kazagh gave her a terrified look.

"Don't worry," she whispered. "We'll all go inside now and you can escape."

"Whatever are you doing over there?" boomed Minegaur, strolling through the flock of boisterous children.

"Eating sweets," she said simply, dropping the edge of the tablecloth.

The old elf chuckled. "You are going to get another toothache at this rate, young lady! Now, into the house with you! And tell your charming little friends to come along."

"Yes Papa." Rather reluctantly, Peliah turned and trotted off after her father. Kazagh watched her go from beneath the tablecloth.

~o~

Like most children, Peliah would have preferred to believe that her papa was a saint. So she wondered if Kazagh had made up a story to gain her sympathies and worm his way out of minor trouble. But the boy had clearly been frightened when he had described the punishment that he would suffer at the Muthsera's hand. When Peliah recalled the sheer terror in his eyes, her sharp little mind told her that there was something to his tale, whether she wanted to believe it or not.

"It is a trial, Tinúviel," she told her ragdoll the next morning. "But I daresay that if something happened, it happened. There isn't anything anybody can do to change it."

The doll stared back at her with its sparkling black button eyes. Its hair was a mass of black yarn. Its body was a gray stocking filled with stuffing and artfully shaped into a head, torso, legs, and arms with a needle and thread. It was not a fancy doll, but Peliah's mother had made it for her before she died of the crimson plague.

Peliah kept the doll because she liked her. She was not a sentimental child. Besides, what she remembered most about her mother was the shouting. And the hitting. Once her mother and Minegaur had argued so violently that a vase had fallen from the shelf and shattered into a million pieces. When Peliah's mother died, the house was finally quiet. Things stopped breaking.

Peliah liked the quiet. She had liked her mother—when she was quiet. There had been rare moments when the dunmer woman had taken her tiny daughter in her arms and held her close, not making a sound. Those were the moments that Peliah liked to think of when she held Tinúviel close.

Of course, she didn't forget the shouting, either. The shouting had taken up most of her mother's time. And so she was glad that the woman was dead, really.

The house was quite silent now. For the last two years its vast dining chamber, long corridors, and sumptuous bedchambers had been as silent as the grave. Heaven knew that Peliah did not run about screaming and shouting, as a normal child would have. Minegaur had thought his daughter was in mourning at first—then, upon questioning the girl and finding her largely indifferent toward her mother's death, determined that she was simply strange. Quiet, and very strange.


	2. Chapter 2

~o~

2

Peliah didn't see Kazagh again until she was eleven.

She was taller and thinner, but other than that, she hadn't changed much. Quiet and thoughtful as ever, she preferred to spend the majority of her time alone. Whenever Minegaur needed his daughter for something, he knew she could be found in the library. Neither he nor his wife had ever spent much time among the dusty tomes, but Peliah gobbled them up as fast as she could. She didn't understand a great many of the words she came across, but delighted in looking them up in the giant dictionary lying on a stand at the back of the room.

One night she couldn't sleep, so she tiptoed up to library. When she arrived, she was surprised to see a lantern glowing on her favorite desk. It was quite late and she'd never seen anyone visit the library apart from herself.

_It must be someone who shouldn't be here_, she thought. _Otherwise they would have come during the day._

She doused her candle and crept through the dimly lit room. Whoever it was, she didn't want to surprise them.

Suddenly she heard the ruffling sound of turning pages. She crouched down and peered around the end of a bookshelf.

It was Kazagh. He was sitting Indian-style on the floor with a book in his lap. His bright green eyes moved rapidly back and forth; so engrossed in the book was he that he didn't even look up when Peliah stepped fully into view. His lips were curved into a soft smile and his tail lashed back and forth. Clearly he was enjoying himself very much.

Though she didn't want to spoil the pretty picture he made, Peliah thought it rude to continue to watch him unannounced. "Hello," she said quietly.

The boy nearly jumped out of his skin. "Ah!" he hissed, springing to his feet. The book hit the floor with a great _thump_.

"Don't be afraid," she said quickly. "It's me, Peliah. And I remember you. You're Kazagh."

Kazagh stared at her for a moment, his chest heaving. Then his posture relaxed. "Oh," he said. "Ah, hello, Sera."

"What are you doing here?" she asked.

Kazagh's eyes flashed nervously. "Khajiit was… dusting the library."

Peliah looked around. True enough, there was a feather duster on the desk. But as far as she could see, everything was still quite dusty.

For some reason, she smiled. "What were you reading?" she asked.

Kazagh looked a little sheepish. "Ah, a story about a boy who finds a dragon egg."

Peliah beamed. "I love that one! I read it yesterday."

Whatever response Kazagh had been expecting, this wasn't it. His eyes were wide with surprise. "So… Sera is not angry?" he asked tentatively.

"No. Why would I be angry?"

Perhaps it would have been wise to drop the subject, but Kazagh was curious as to why Peliah didn't treat him poorly, like other dunmer did. Besides, she had already proven herself trustworthy. He had not forgotten the birthday party all those years ago.

"Because khajiit was not working," Kazagh explained. "He was reading in Sera's special library. He has no right to read in Sera's special library."

"Why not? Just because you're a slave doesn't mean you don't get to read books!" Peliah laughed.

Kazagh raised his eyebrows. "Khajiit begs pardon, Sera, but that is exactly what it means."

Peliah stared at him, dumbfounded. "You mean—you're not allowed to _read_?"

Kazagh nodded. "It is illegal for a slave to learn to read. But the mother knows how. Someone taught her. And she taught the cubs."

"There are _more_ of you?" Peliah asked. "I mean, you have siblings?"

"Khajiit does not know this word, 'siblings.'"

"Uh, brothers and sisters."

"Oh. Yes. Khajiit has three older brothers, all from same litter, and one little sister. He has no others from his litter."

"How old is your little sister?" Peliah wanted to know.

Kazagh pondered for a moment. "Khajiit believes she is three. But is very tiny." He made a cradle with his arms and rocked it gently back and forth.

"How old are you?" Peliah asked. She knew she was asking a lot of questions, but she couldn't seem to help herself.

"Thirteen," he replied.

For reasons she didn't understand, Peliah was suddenly shy of him. He was bigger than her, but she hadn't realized that he was so old. She wished she had worn something other than her loose silk nightgown.

"Well," she said stoutly, "you can read here any time you want. _I_ don't mind."

Kazagh smiled. "It is kind of Sera to offer, but that would not be wise."

"Why not?"

"Because of the Muthsera," Kazagh said, turning his head to the side. "If he catches khajiit wasting time, he will be very angry."

"Reading isn't a waste of time."

Kazagh smiled at her indignation. "For khajiit it is."

Peliah stared at him. She could not imagine a world in which she was not allowed to read whatever she wanted whenever she wanted to.

"So… if he caught you… he would whip you?"

Kazagh nodded solemnly.

"Has he whipped you before?" Peliah asked tremblingly.

"No," Kazagh said, shaking his furry head. "This one stays out of trouble."

"Oh."

Suddenly someone peered around the end of the bookshelf, just as Peliah had done. Peliah and Kazagh both started violently.

It was a tall, lean khajiiti woman. She had a thin face and drooping whiskers, but her beetle-green eyes were so bright and piercing that they seemed to look straight through Peliah.

She bowed. "Forgive khajiit if she has startled Sera," the woman said quickly. Her voice was as rough as sandpaper, whereas Kazagh's was high and slightly squeaky. "Khajiit also begs Sera to forgive the son. He was dusting at night in order to stay out of Sera's way. He should not have spoken to Sera, but he did not mean any impertinence."

She shot Kazagh a sharp look. The boy wilted visibly.

Peliah realized that Kazagh was in trouble. "Oh, he didn't speak to me. I spoke to him," she said matter-of-factly. "He was just trying to dust, but I was curious, you see."

The woman's eyes widened with surprise. "…Oh."

"Please don't be upset with him. He didn't do anything wrong," Peliah said in a high, clear voice.

The woman was at a complete loss for words. Her personal experience told her to never trust a dunmer. What new sort of trickery was this?

"In fact, I was going back to bed," Peliah went on. "If Kazagh would like to stay and… er… finish up, that would be fine."

Kazagh's mother was shaking her head before Peliah was finished. "No, no, Sera, the son is needed in the kitchen," she said quickly. There was fear in her eyes. "Please, Sera will excuse us now."

She grabbed Kazagh by the hand and pulled him to his feet. The boy gave Peliah a parting grimace before his mother dragged him out of the room, shutting the door noiselessly behind them.

~o~

Peliah returned to the library first thing the next morning—this time with an agenda. She could vaguely remember seeing a book entitled _Slavers and Slaves: The Dynamic of Dominance_. She'd planned to read it later since it was such a great, fat book. But after last night's events, she was desperate to find it again.

After scanning the spines of several hundred volumes, she finally spotted it. It was very dusty.

Peliah took it down from the shelf, cracked it open in the middle, and began to read.

…_of the superior race. Anti-slavery advocates often bleat that beastmen are capable of human or near-human emotion. But careful study and observation of these creatures by celebrated dunmer ethologists reveals that such is not the case. To describe their reactions to given situations as emotional responses would be fantastical at best. The behavior of beastmen is determined by ultimate causation; for example, they will pair because it increases their reproductive success—not because they have fallen in love._

Peliah frowned. She went over to the dictionary and riffled through it. _E… E… Et… Eth... Etho_—ah.

"_Ethology: __the scientific and objective study of animal behavior especially under natural conditions_."

Animal behavior? The girl's frown deepened. That was hardly fair. Animal behaviorists would see what they expected to see—animal behavior. And Kazagh was not an animal. He talked, for one thing. He thought, for another. And he felt—Peliah was sure of it.

She opened the book in another place.

_Feelings of sympathy and compassion toward beastmen might seem morally justified, but nothing could be further from the truth. Incapable of gratitude, beastmen see acts of kindness as acts of weakness. Dominance must be reinforced with punishment, and punishment alone. Though it might seem harsh to some, failing to remind slaves of their place will only disorient them. If they are treated like dunmer, they will develop a false sense of equality to dunmer. Such a false sense of equality could only lead to rebellion._

Peliah slammed the book shut. She scowled as she had never scowled before, her eyebrows knotting together and her blood-red eyes flashing dangerously.

Who had added this book to the library? Her father? Her grandfather? Her great-grandfather?

She checked the publishing date. 3E 223. It was over one hundred and fifty years old. Which meant that it had probably been stinking up these halls of greatness and wisdom since long before her great grandfather, Dres Travail, was born.

Still, Peliah wasn't comforted. Someone in her family had seen fit to add this book to the library. Did that person live by its poisonous rhetoric? Did her father?

She shivered. All evidence pointed towards the affirmative.

Compassion was not one of Peliah's strong suits. Usually she acted exclusively in her own interest. But something about the idea of Kazagh, tied up and furiously lashed, made her cringe.

_Dominance must be reinforced with punishment, and punishment alone._

Peliah didn't want to believe that her father was of the same mind as the author of _Slavers and Slaves_, even though the evidence against him was… mounting. _Perhaps I'll talk to him, just make sure_, she thought.


	3. Chapter 3

~o~

3

Dres Minegaur was preparing for wine tasting. He had ordered his slaves to bring seventeen vintage bottles up from the cellar. While he waited, he inspected the glasses carefully, wanting to make certain that they were immaculate even though the maid had polished them three times already.

He was greatly surprised when his reclusive little daughter came walking into the dining hall, her eyes unnaturally bright.

"Heigh ho, little Peliah," Minegaur boomed. "To what do I owe this rare pleasure?"

"I have a question," the girl said in a business-like fashion.

Minegaur chuckled. "Another? Can't say I'm surprised. Well then, what is it? Your papa is quite busy, you know."

Peliah had rehearsed what she was going to say on her way down the stairs. She'd decided to be direct, as it was likely that her father would skirt around the unpleasantries of slave ownership if he weren't asked about them flat-out.

"Why do we have slaves, Papa?" she asked.

The old elf frowned and put his wine glass down. "Now, that's an odd question. Why would you ask such a thing?"

The girl shrugged. "No reason. I just want to know."

Minegaur seemed satisfied with this explanation. "Typical," he said with a short laugh. "Well little Peliah, we have slaves because we have a very large estate that needs looking after."

"But Papa, aren't we quite rich?"

Minegaur frowned. "Well, yes. What of it?"

"Can't we just _hire_ servants?"

The old elf gave a great booming laugh. "That's the whole point—we don't need to. We have servants-for-life that don't require any pay or sick leave."

"But wouldn't they _like_ pay and sick leave?" Peliah asked in what she hoped was an innocent tone.

The old elf threw his head back and laughed. "Oh, Peliah, what a droll little thing you are! You remind me of your mother more every day you live. Come here and your papa will tell you a story."

Puzzled, Peliah followed her father into the sitting room, where the old elf plopped down in an overstuffed armchair and held his arms out to her. He had never been one to pay a great deal of attention to her. Now he wanted to tell her a story? Warily, she climbed onto his lap.

"Now then. You know that your papa was quite the adventurer in his younger years, don't you?"

Peliah nodded. She had overheard bits and pieces of his tales over the years.

"Well you probably didn't know that your papa used to trek across deserts and swamps in search of something. And that something was beastmen."

Though she was familiar with the term, Peliah decided to feign naiveté in the interest of sounding offhand. "Beastmen?"

"Khajiit and argonians. You know what those are, don't you?"

"Cat people and the lizard people?"

"Precisely. Yes, I was tracking beastmen so I could bring them back to Morrowind and sell them, like my father, and his father before him, and his father before him, waaaaaaaaay back to the founding of House Dres."

Peliah swallowed hard. "But what if they didn't want to go?"

The old elf shook his head. "Dear little one, they might have resisted at first, but that was nothing but the animal wildness in them. Once they arrived in their new home, they hardly resisted at all. I daresay they were better off, even, with a roof over their heads and plenty to eat and drink!"

The little girl stared at him. "But what if they didn't want to be slaves?" Her voice was barely a whisper now.

For the first time, Minegaur's smile faltered. "It is not sensible to speak of the wants of beastmen," he said in a slow, careful voice. "They want for nothing but food when they're hungry, water when they're thirsty, and shelter when it rains."

Peliah could not believe what she was hearing. Her father could have written that book himself. But he was wrong. Kazagh wanted more from life than food and shelter—he wanted books. He wanted knowledge. Why else would he stay up late reading when he could be sleeping? He was no different from Peliah, really.

Peliah wanted to challenge Minegaur's perception on what he called "the wants of beastmen," but she knew that opening such a dialogue would not be prudent. For one thing, it would make him suspicious regarding her sudden interest in slavery. For another, it would probably make him angry and therefore unwilling to revisit the subject. And now that Peliah had begun her investigation, she was loath to cause her well of information to go dry.

"Do you see that sword above the mantle, little daughter?" Minegaur suddenly asked, pointing to a greatsword on a plaque above their heads.

Peliah nodded.

"That is Akrash, my dear. Isn't it lovely? My father gave it to me when I left on my first voyage. Why, that sword and I have been all over Tamriel together! It assisted me in the capture of hundreds of slaves. All of the slaves in this house, now that I think about it—well, the ones over thirty years of age, anyway."

Peliah decided to ask what she considered a less accusatory question. "How did you get the slaves back to Morrowind?"

"Ah, now that is a worthy tale," Minegaur boomed. Peliah was relieved to see that he was smiling again.

"Once the beastmen were captured and bound, someone had to feed them, water them, and guard them night and day," the old elf began. "Of course those tasks were given to my men. Being captain, my responsibilities were of a more challenging nature. I had to navigate a safe route back to Morrowind. Elsweyr was particularly tricky. We had to march our slaves all the way down to Topal Bay, for that was the only place to make port. That meant crossing vast tracts of desert with hundreds of cats in tow. Water holes were far and few between to say the least, and although the cats knew of the secret springs nestled in the mountains, they refused to reveal them to us, even when thirst set in and death seemed imminent. Stubborn creatures, they were."

A lump rose in Peliah's throat.

"Once we were hit by a terrible sandstorm. Being young and inexperienced, I ordered the company to continue through it. When the storm ended, I realized that we were quite far off course. Though the stars pointed us back in the right direction, we'd lost quite a bit of time. There was no way we were going to make it to the next water hole before we ran out of water.

"We told the slaves that they would be the first to die if they didn't tell us where the secret water was. But they wouldn't open their mouths. We didn't want to waste energy lashing them, so we killed a few of their cubs, holding them up by the scruffs of their necks and disemboweling them, but it had absolutely no effect on the beastmen. Even the females were silent.

"After all the cubs were dead, we didn't know what to do. Though it's common knowledge that beastmen don't have feelings, we thought that they would defend their own offspring at the very least. But alas, they did not. They feel absolutely nothing, Peliah. Even the screams of their dying cubs did not stir their sympathies.

"So we pressed on, even though we knew we'd never make it out of that desert alive. It was all we could do. We didn't spare a single drop of water for the cats. Even so, we ran out after a about week. The cats grew very thin and their eyes sunk back in their heads, but they simply refused to die. They could go much longer without water than we could.

"Finally we were too weak to continue. Even the cats were immobilized. They had not drunk anything for a week and a half. I was certain that they were on the brink of death, though they remained as insolent as ever.

"Suddenly, out of the desert came a band of Imperial scouts on horseback. They had come from the very same water hole that we were bound for. They carried many vessels of water and when they saw that we were dying of thirst, they were more than willing to share with us.

"They were even willing to spare some for the cats. The cats would have revived with relatively little water and we probably could have made it out with all fifty of them in tow. But I had promised them that they would die if they refused to show us the hidden water. So I ordered my men to bind them in a great circle. They were too weak to resist. Within two days, they were all dead.

"We continued to the water hole. After we had rested there for several weeks, we turned around and headed north again. It would have made little sense to return home without any slaves to sell at the market. And we ended up finding an even larger band. I daresay it was a stroke of good fortune. They were much fitter and finer than the ones we had lost. So I suppose all's well that ends well."

The old elf finished his tale with a satisfied shrug. He settled back in his chair, smiling reminiscently.

Peliah sprang from her father's lap. She couldn't help it. Her whole body was hot and feverish. Her eyes burned.

_Stay calm, stay calm_, she thought desperately.

Minegaur was surprised by this sudden, violent gesture. "Peliah?" he asked uncertainly, reaching for her.

She closed her eyes and clenched her hands into trembling fists. _You monster, you monster! _she screamed in her head. _You aren't my father! I don't know who you are!_

"Dear, are you quite alright?" the old elf asked. Peliah looked past him as though she did not quite see him. Her eyes flashed wildly back and forth. Her lips trembled.

"Yes, I am fine," she said through clenched teeth.

Minegaur gaped at her. She certainly didn't _look_ fine. Her expression was downright frightening; he couldn't understand it. Then again, she had always been an odd child…

"I'm going to the library," she choked.

"Alright," Minegaur said uncertainly. He reached out to touch her, but she flinched away from his hand.

She turned and walked out of the room. As soon as she was out of Minegaur's sight, she ran all the way down the hall and up the stairs.

~o~

Over the next two hours, Tinúviel the ragdoll bore silent witness to Peliah's first meltdown ever.

Not that it was terribly loud. But the girl did fling herself upon her bed and sob into her pillow, her tiny shoulders heaving.

She knew that it would do no good to cry. Crying never changed anything. But for the first time in her life, she simply couldn't stop herself.

It was even worse than she could have imagined. Not only had her father whipped his slaves—he had personally kidnapped _hundreds _of them and brought them to Morrowind at the point of a sword! He had killed their children! He had watched them thirst to death before his very eyes.

"Kazagh is a slave because of _my_ Papa," she sobbed. "Do you hear, Tinúviel? All of the slaves in this house—they are slaves because of _my_ Papa!"

The bright-eyed face of Kazagh's mother came swimming into Peliah's head. What had she left behind in Elsweyr? Parents, maybe? A home, at the very least. It just wasn't fair!

And Kazagh had been born into a world in which he would only ever be a slave. He would never see his homeland. He would never know the location of the secret mountain water, which his people had died to protect. He would never be free.

And it was all because of Dres Minegaur.

Peliah picked Tinúviel up. She studied the doll's gray skin and tangled black hair. For the first time in her life, it occurred to Peliah that Tinúviel was terribly ugly. What was so special about having gray skin, anyway? Why did dunmer think that it made them better than everyone else? As far as Peliah could see, dunmer were simply cruel; what right did that give them to lord over other races?

She walked over to the mirror on the wall and stood before it. Her face was swollen from so much crying. Her long black hair was tousled about her neck. And her eyes were redder than fiery lava. They were demonic. She hated them.

"I don't want to be member of House Dres," she whispered, her eyes filling with fresh tears. "I don't want to be a slaver's daughter. I don't to be dunmer."

She snatched Tinúviel off the bed and threw her into the closet. The doll slumped to the floor and lay there with her head smashed against a shoe, her black eyes glittering reproachfully.

Peliah stared at her.

Perhaps it wasn't the doll's fault that she was so ugly. Perhaps it wasn't her fault that she was gray. Peliah walked over to the closet and stood there, speculating.

After a long moment, she sighed, picked Tinúviel up, and dusted her off.

It wasn't her fault. And that was that.


	4. Chapter 4

~o~

4

Peliah didn't see Kazagh again for two whole years.

In fact, she hardly saw anyone. She'd grown more reclusive than ever. She rose with the sun, combed her rippling black hair, dressed, and went to the library. There she would read until hunger drove her back to her room, where she knew lunch would be waiting on a platter on the nightstand. Usually it was baked ash yams and cinnamon; the cook seemed to know that this was Peliah's favorite dish. She would usually eat dinner there as well, unless Minegaur specifically requested her company at the dining table.

She had grown remarkably pale. Her skin was the color of the predawn—white-gray with blue undertones. Her red eyes were still much too large for her face. Additionally, she had grown quite tall. Her arms and legs were long and slender. Her hands were pale, long-fingered things—so slim and bony that they almost looked like albino spiders.

Her father noticed that she was beginning to look like a plant that had been kept in a dark closet. So he bought her a horse, hoping that it would coax her outside.

It didn't. Though Peliah thought the beast very fine looking, she didn't care for him much. She called him Felaróf and slipped out to the stables to brush him and pat him occasionally, but showed no interest in riding him through the streets of Tear.

What she really wanted was another glimpse of Kazagh. He would be fifteen now; would he still be working in the kitchens with his mother? Running errands and cleaning? Or would he have more important duties now that he was older?

She wished she could ask him. But no matter how quietly she crept about the manor, she never bumped into him. In fact, she never bumped into any khajiit at all. She supposed that their large, sensitive ears and sharp noses warned them whenever she was near.

"Perhaps Kazagh doesn't want to speak to me since I am dunmer," she said to Tinúviel. "Perhaps he fears me now that he's older and wiser. And he should," she added bitterly.

That evening she found a green apple on her dinner tray. She'd never been fond of apples. Usually when she found something she didn't like on her dinner tray, she'd simply eat it, thinking of the hands that had prepared it. But tonight she decided to take the apple outside and give it Felaróf instead.

The evening air was warm, but it wasn't heavy. The sky was a deep purple-gray. When Peliah arrived at the stable, Felaróf looked up from his dinner of rolled oats and hay, his large black eyes sparkling. He tossed his head.

"Hello horse," Peliah said, walking up to him and stroking his nose. The skin around his nostrils was like velvet. "Tough day?"

Though she had only been joking, the horse wrenched his nose out of her grasp and tossed his head. He turned around in a circle, swishing his tail agitatedly.

Peliah felt bad for him. He must be very bored, standing in his stall all day long. He was some sort of thoroughbred; that much was obvious. He had a slender neck, thick withers, and long legs. He'd probably been bred to race.

_Maybe I'll take him out and walk him around the garden_, she thought. She grabbed a halter and lead-rope from the tack room. When Felaróf saw what she carried, he thrust his head out of the stall and dropped it into her hands, as though to hurry the process along. Smiling gently, Peliah slid the halter up over his head and fastened the buckles. Then she hooked the lead-rope to the halter and opened the stall door.

Before she had time to think, she was on her butt and Felaróf was dashing across the yard, his tail high in the air. He didn't even pause when he reached the garden gate. Rather, he increased his speed and launched himself neatly over it. His back hooves didn't even clip the top of it.

Peliah sat there for a moment, stunned. Then she sprang to her feet and took off after him. He'd make a mess of the garden—that was for sure. He'd leave giant hoof-marks in the soft, wet earth.

She flung the gate open and dashed inside. A familiar tangle of roses and bittergreen vines met her eyes. It didn't take long for her to spot Felaróf galloping near the fountain, his long black mane and tail billowing out behind him. Sure enough, massive clods of mud flew about his plunging hooves.

Peliah ran after him. It took her a while, but she finally got him cornered near the hedges. She didn't know anything about horses, so she had no idea that all of her chasing had only frightened him more. Now he regarded her with wide, distrustful eyes. He snorted threateningly as she approached with her hands in the air.

When she was within five feet of him, he reared and let out a thunderous whinny. Peliah tried to back up and fell down on her butt yet again.

Suddenly, a tall figure stepped between Peliah and Felaróf's slashing hooves. It was a khajiit. He sprang up, grabbed the lead-rope that dangled between the horse's legs, and pulled him back to the ground. Felaróf tried to run, but the khajiit was too quick for him. He placed a hand on the horse's cheek. "_Qu'or a mohir_," he crooned. "Shhh. _Murdo vistracar elibro am quinrhos_."

Felaróf huffed a giant sigh. He regarded the khajiit for a long moment, then his entire body seemed to relax. He lowered his great black head and pressed it into the khajiit's hands, all thoughts of running seemingly forgotten.

Peliah could only stare in amazement. Her breaths came in great shuddering gasps.

The khajiit turned around. It was Kazagh! Smiling gently, he offered her his hand.

She took it. The fur on his palm was silky-smooth.

He pulled her to her feet. She became aware of a dull ache in her tailbone, but it seemed distant and inconsequential in light of what had just occurred.

"This one is fiery, no?" Kazagh said, gesturing toward Felaróf. His voice was as rough as sandpaper and as smooth as honey. "My people would call him _Sai'iq_—spirit one."

Peliah could only stare at him in stunned silence. His voice was so rich and queer and beautiful.

He looked at her curiously. "You are alright, Sera?" he asked when she did not speak. Peliah noticed that when he smiled, the fur around his brilliant green eyes wrinkled and his whiskers perked up.

She breathed a great gulp of air. "Yes, I am fine," she said, her voice unnaturally high.

"You fell down hard," Kazagh reminded her. He cocked his head to the side.

"Yes, I know," Peliah assured him in that same strange, high voice. She touched her backside experimentally. She winced, regretting the action immediately; Kazagh's eyes sparkled with good-natured humor.

Felaróf sighed and began to crop the grass, his long tail swishing back and forth. Kazagh reached out and stroked his neck. "This one escapes me often," he said conversationally. "He likes to run."

"Do you tend to him often, then?" Peliah asked. To her relief, her voice seemed to have returned to normal.

Kazagh nodded. "Khajiit is the groom now," he said.

Peliah's curiosity overcame her shyness at once. "Do you like being the groom?" she asked.

"Yes," Kazagh said, his lips curving into a gentle smile. He regarded Peliah for a moment, then resumed his stroking of Felaróf. "It is quiet work. Peaceful work. The horses do not bang pots and pans."

Peliah smiled warmly. "I like the quiet too," she said. "That's why I stay in the library all the time. How come I never see you there anymore?"

Kazagh chuckled. "Does Sera _wish_ to see me there?" he asked in that low, smooth voice of his.

Peliah blushed furiously. "No. Well—I mean, yes. I'd like to talk to _someone_."

The khajiit shook his head ruefully. "Sera should know better than to talk to a slave. If it is conversation she wants, she should talk to the father."

Peliah's blush deepened. "I'd much rather be alone," she said, raising her chin defiantly.

Surprised, Kazagh raised an eyebrow at her. "Why?"

"Because he's… evil." Peliah averted her eyes. "You of all people should know that."

Kazagh stared at her. For a long while, neither of them spoke. The only sound was Felaróf's quiet munching.

Kazagh looked at Peliah appraisingly. For the first time, he really saw her. His eyes traveled down her slender figure and back up to her face. It occurred to him that she was quite lovely in her own way. Lovely and peculiar.

"Does Sera want to ride?" he suddenly asked, gesturing toward Felaróf.

Peliah looked up in surprise. "Oh—no. I can't. I mean, I've never tried."

Kazagh laughed lightly. "It is simple, Sera. Khajiit will hold the rope. All you have to do is hold onto the mane."

Peliah gave him a hesitant smile. "Promise you won't let him run away?"

The khajiit's smile widened into a toothy grin. He put a hand over his heart. "Khajiit swears it, Sera. He would sooner die."  
"Well I hope that won't be necessary," said Peliah, gazing at Felaróf with some apprehension.

Kazagh threw his head back and laughed. Peliah noticed how broad his shoulders were. "Don't worry, Sera," he said. "This one is willful, but he listens when khajiit speaks."

For some reason, Peliah trusted him. She couldn't help it. His eyes were like a field of summer clover and his smile was kind and genuine.

He bent over and formed a platform with his hands near one of Felaróf's knees. "Step here," he instructed.

Peliah stepped into his hands, grabbed a fistful of Felaróf's mane, and swung her leg up over the horse's back. Felaróf lifted his head, but he didn't seem terribly startled.

"There, you see," Kazagh said, still smiling. "Simple."

Peliah gave a weak laugh. "Sure." She couldn't help but notice how very high up she was.

Kazagh patted the horse on the shoulder and began to lead it toward the garden gate. Peliah gasped as soon as the beast moved; its bare, sweaty back was slippery. She leaned forward and gripped the base of its mane, but even so, her rump slid around with Felaróf's every step.

"Kazagh, I'm going to fall," she said urgently, the side of her face pressed against the horse's neck.

Kazagh and Felaróf both turned and looked at her. Kazagh was smiling. "Sera will not fall," he said soothingly. "Just hold on." Felaróf rolled his eyes and let out a giant snort.

They reached the garden gate without any trouble. As soon as they passed through it, though, Peliah spotted a khajiiti woman hanging laundry on the clothesline. She lifted a large white sheet from her basket and it fluttered in the wind.

Felaróf gave a shriek of fright and reared up on his hind legs. Peliah slid right off his back. She didn't scream, but terror gripped her as the ground flew towards her.

Her body hit Kazagh's chest with a dull _thump_. As he staggered backward, his furry arms closed around her—one beneath her legs and the other around her back. "Got you, Sera," his sandpaper-and-honey voice said in her ear.

As Felaróf dashed off, Peliah could only stare at Kazagh. As she watched him, his ears, which had been pressed flat against his head, twisted around, as though in concern. She noticed that he had beautiful black markings around his eyes—they looked like eyeliner.

Kazagh stared back at her. He noticed how very full and shapely her lips were. And her eyes weren't creepy, as he'd originally thought—they were bright and mysterious and lovely. Her body felt long and slender in his arms. She hardly seemed to weigh anything at all.

Peliah suddenly realized how very close Kazagh's face was; she could feel his warm breath on her cheek. Blushing deeply, she leaned away from him.

That seemed to wake him up. What was he doing? He had no right to hold a lady of such importance.

"K-Khajiit apologizes, Sera," he stammered. He set the girl on her feet. Then he thrust his hands into his pockets and scowled at the ground.

"Why are you apologizing?" she asked, straightening her gown. Her cheeks were still very red.

Kazagh couldn't seem to bring himself to look at her. How long had he stood there staring at her like some kind of oaf? "Khajiit said you wouldn't fall," he murmured, unable to bring himself to reveal the real reason for his embarrassment.

Though she was still quite dazed, Peliah realized that Kazagh was uncomfortable. She reached out and touched his arm.

He looked up at her very quickly.

"It's not your fault," she said gently. "Thank you for catching me. I probably would have landed face-first in the mud if you hadn't been here."

Kazagh's heart fluttered. "Probably," he agreed, relieved to see that she was smiling. Maybe he had not made such a fool of himself after all.

"Peliah!" someone called from the house. "Peliah, where are you?"

Peliah stiffened. It was Minegaur.

"Khajiit must go!" Kazagh hissed. His chagrin was replaced with terror in an instant.

Peliah grabbed his hand. "Wait! Can I see you again?"

The corners of his lips twitched. "Perhaps, if Sera is coming to the stable. But now khajiit must go."

He pulled his hand out of hers and dashed away across the lawn, disappearing into the shadows behind the stable.

Old Dres Minegaur came waddling into the yard. When he saw Peliah standing there, his pudgy features arranged themselves into a smile. "Daughter! What a pleasure to see you outdoors," he said congenially.

Peliah was still slightly stunned. She stared at the place where Kazagh had vanished.

"I have been looking for you," Minegaur said. "I invited Uncle Sorex and Aunt Tilisu for dinner. Won't you join us, child?"

"I suppose so," Peliah said, tearing her gaze from the shadows. "Just give me a moment to change into something suitable."

"That will be just fine," the old elf boomed.

Together, Peliah and her father set off toward the house. She looked back over her shoulder once, but Kazagh was nowhere to be seen.


	5. Chapter 5

~o~

5

Peliah awoke very early on the morning of her fourteenth birthday.

She wasn't sure why. The sky outside her window was still a deep purple. Her room was dark and cold.

She shivered and drew her blankets up around her face. But before she closed her eyes, she noticed a dark lump on the end of her bed.

She grabbed a match from her nightstand and struck it. Dim, flickering light filled the room and Peliah saw that the lump was actually a package. Surprised, she sat up in bed.

After lighting her lantern, she picked the package up. It was small, wrapped in thick brown paper, and tied with string.

Peliah looked around the room, but there wasn't anyone there. Whoever had left the parcel must have done so while she was sleeping.

Curious, she tore it open. Something dark and glittering fell onto the bed.

Peliah picked it up. It was some sort of bracelet, made of the tiniest little beads she had ever seen. Though the light was dim, she could see that some of the beads were red and some of them were gold. Together they formed an intricate pattern of suns and arrows.

Peliah's mouth fell open. She had never seen such a thing in all her life. It was so beautiful.

She sprang out of bed and dashed to her closet. When she had located her prettiest white frock, she slipped it over her head and did up the buttons in the front. Then she grabbed a comb, tore it through her tousled hair, and splashed cold water on her face.

She paused on her way out the door to tie the bracelet on her wrist. It was too large, but that didn't bother her. It was still lovely.

Peliah ran down the stairs and burst through the back door. The air was cold and damp. She ran across the glittering lawn. The icy dew drenched her bare feet.

When she arrived in the stable, she saw Felaróf standing outside his stall. Kazagh was currying him.

"Kazagh!" she called out excitedly. Without thinking, she raced toward him. Felaróf reared, but thankfully he was tied to a post.

"Woa, woa, _m'jurno quorohar_," Kazagh crooned, stroking the horse's flank. He turned to Peliah.

She smiled sheepishly. "Sorry, I forgot he hates that. But I got your present." She held out her wrist. The bracelet glittered in the lamplight.

"Khajiit is not giving Sera a present," Kazagh said in a high, false voice. "It must be from someone else."

Peliah rolled her eyes. "Right, because I have so many friends."

Kazagh grinned. "Alright, khajiit is _murrquinors_—found out."

"It's so beautiful," Peliah mused, turning the bracelet over and over in the dim light. "Did you make it?"

"Yes, but Sera is wearing it wrong." Smiling, he took the bracelet from her wrist. Then he pushed her sleeve all the way back to her shoulder. She shivered a little beneath his touch. "This one goes here," he explained, wrapping the bracelet around her upper arm.

"Oh," Peliah said. She hoped that it was still dark enough that he couldn't see her blush.

He tied the drawstrings. "There. Sera wears it well."

Peliah held out her arm. The dark red beads glittered like wet blood against her fair skin. "Thank you so much," she said, looking up into the khajiit's glowing green eyes.

Kazagh suddenly felt shy. "It is just something that khajiit is making in his spare time," he said, looking at his feet.

But Peliah knew that that all those tiny beads must have taken hours to string together. And spare time was probably hard for a slave to come by.

A lump rose in Peliah's throat. No one had made her anything since her mother had pieced Tinúviel together all those years ago. Her father liked to buy her expensive gowns and things, but he hardly cared what she thought of them. Just so they were fine enough to turn heads. Just so they reminded the people of Tear of the wealth of House Dres.

"Kazagh, won't you come to my birthday party today?" Peliah found herself asking. "Father has only invited young noblemen and their parents. I think he's trying to show me off. I've been dreading it all week but maybe if I had a friend there, it wouldn't be so—"

Kazagh put a finger to her lips. "Sera, surely you are not serious? For khajiit to be seen at a dunmer celebration is the height of impertinence. Poor Kazagh would lose his hide."

"But couldn't you hide under the table, like you did at my eighth birthday party?" Peliah asked. There was a pleading note in her voice.

Kazagh laughed out loud. "Ah, khajiit is forgetting about that! What a cheeky little fellow he was. He was surely lucky the mother did not find out."

Peliah smiled. "But she didn't," she reminded him.

"Luck," Kazagh said, looking knowingly into Peliah's eyes. "The mother was busy. But she would have been very angry."

Peliah looked at the ground. She knew that it would be foolish for Kazagh to attend her birthday party, but his presence would bring her so much comfort. She had been visiting the stables regularly over the last three months. Sometimes Kazagh was there. Sometimes he wasn't. But when he was, they would talk for hours.

"Do not make sad eyes, Sera," Kazagh said, putting his hand over the band on upper arm. "Khajiit will be with you _here_."

Seized by a sudden impulse, Peliah shook her head. "Here," she corrected him, picking up his hand and placing it over her heart.

Kazagh smiled so widely that Peliah could see his large pointed teeth. His eyes sparkled. He opened his mouth as if to say something, then closed it.

Peliah's stomach flooded with butterflies. "Only if you want to be. In here, I mean," she babbled. "In my heart, I mean." She cringed. What on earth was she saying? She sounded like an idiot.

But Kazagh's smile didn't falter. "Sera is the only friend that this one has ever had."

Peliah blushed crimson with pleasure. "Me too. I mean—you're the only friend I've ever had, too."

Kazagh let his hand fall. Peliah's eyes flickered from Kazagh's to the ground. The khajiit's gaze, however, was steady and intense. He cocked his head to the side.

"Maybe khajiit will visit the party for a minute," he finally said. "He will stick to the shadows."

"Oh—well I don't want you to get into trouble."

Kazagh shrugged. "Khajiit will be alright. He is very stealthy."

He would certainly be running a risk, Peliah knew, but the party would be so much more bearable if she knew her friend was somewhere in the room.

"Well, I suppose I should go," she said after a while. "Father said he was going to hire a dunmer maid to help get me dressed today. I'm not sure why."

"He wants Sera looking her best for the young gentlemen," Kazagh said. His whiskers drooped.

"Well they can all go to oblivion," she said. "You're the only guest that I actually care about."

Kazagh brightened at once. "Well then, this one will surely be there."

"I'll look for you."

"Sera will not see khajiit. But khajiit will be there."

Peliah grinned. "I _won't _see you there, then." She touched Kazagh on the arm before walking out of the stable.

~o~

Peliah accompanied her father down to the entrance hall to greet her new maid.

As it turned out, the maid was a middle-aged elf named Uradela. She was short and portly, with brassy yellow hair and a rather squashed, upturned nose. She was dressed in blue cashmere and she wore her hair in an elegant knot at the base of her skull.

"It is an honor to serve House Dres, Muthsera," Uradela said, bowing low before Minegaur.

Minegaur waved his hand. "Of course, of course. I have been meaning to secure a handmaiden for my daughter for some time. Perhaps if you impress, you will find a permanent station here."

Peliah looked up at her father in surprise. He had said nothing of hiring a maid _permanently_.

"Now then, Peliah needs to look absolutely flawless today," Minegaur said. "I bought her a gown from Cyrodiil. It is, so I'm told, the latest fashion. You will find it lying on her bed. I expect her hair to be done up to match. She must be striking. She must be lovely. Do you understand?"

"I live to please, Muthsera," Uradela said, smiling widely. Peliah noticed that her teeth were exceptionally large.

"Very good then." Minegaur turned to his daughter. "Take Uradela up to your room. I will expect you back down here in an hour."

"Yes father," Peliah said.

As it turned out, the dress came with a corset. Uradela laced it up very tightly, bracing her feet against the side of Peliah's dresser and heaving with all her might. Peliah gasped and clutched her bedframe for support.

"I can't breathe," she gulped.

Uradela only laughed. "Begging your pardon, Sera, but that's the whole point."

"To pass out?"

The maid chortled as she tied the strings. "No. But a comfortable corset isn't doing its job, is it? I can't believe that you've never worn one before, Sera. It's no wonder that you have no figure."

Peliah blushed. It was true that she had little in the way of breasts or hips, but it had never bothered her until now.

"In fact," Uradela said, "we may have to stuff your gown. I'm sure dear daddy wouldn't mind. I've been charged with making you look "flawless," after all. I'm guessing he's trying to marry you off?"

Peliah's stomach lurched. "No. I mean, he hasn't _said_ anything about marrying me off. Why would he? I'm only fourteen."

Uradela clicked her tongue. "Sera, look around you. Your kind always get married young, especially the girls."

"My kind?"

"Noblewomen." Uradela lifted the gown from Peliah's bed and held it up in the light.

Peliah's head swam. Why, the thought of getting married had never even crossed her mind. Surely Minegaur would ask her permission before trying to secure a husband for her?

"He just wants to show me off," Peliah said firmly. "He wants everyone to be impressed by how fine I look. That's all."

Uradela said nothing, but she did smirk in a self-satisfied sort of way.

When Peliah was fully dressed, she walked over to the mirror to get a look at herself. The dress was very fine. The bodice was tight, except in the bosom. The skirt flared out around Peliah's hips and tumbled to the floor in a mass of heavy gold fabric. Her waist looked exceptionally small.

Uradela rummaged around the room until she found two large silk handkerchiefs. Then she stuffed them down the front of Peliah's gown, ignoring the scandalized look on the girl's face.

"That will have to do," she said, turning Peliah around in circles so that she could examine her from every angle. "Now for your hair."

Uradela brushed Peliah's waist-length black hair until it shone. Then she coiled it up and pinned it atop her head. The mass of hair was very heavy; Peliah could feel a headache coming on from the moment the maid jammed the pins into her head.

Uradela procured string of pearls from a box on the nightstand. She put them around Peliah's neck and did up the clasp. "There," she said. "All finished."

Peliah stood before the mirror again. Her reflection stared back at her, red-eyed and ghostly pale. The mass of dark hair atop her head glistened in the morning light and the pearls at her throat shone. She scarcely recognized herself.

"You are ravishing, Sera," Uradela said in a very practiced voice. Beneath her fawning expression was that same knowing smirk. From the moment Peliah saw it, she began to feel uneasy about her new maid.

"Thank you," she said coolly. "Please leave me now. I will be downstairs shortly."

Uradela gave a deep nod and departed. After she was gone, Peliah went to her bed and lifted her pillow. Kazagh's armband lay beneath it. Peliah rolled up her sleeve, put the armband on, and rolled it back down. Though the fabric was tight against her skin, the bulge of the armband was subtle enough that no one would notice it.

She hoped.

* * *

A/N: Please review :)


	6. Chapter 6

~o~

6

"Lady Peliah! How lovely to see you again."

Peliah peered into the black eyes of Soron Jeles as he stooped and kissed her hand. The lad had grown tall and gangly. His severely pointed chin and sneering mouth were just as unpleasant as Peliah remembered them.

Though she felt more inclined to wrench her hand out of his grasp, she nodded and said, "The pleasure is mine."

That seemed to please him. He smiled, revealing a set of yellowish teeth. "I was positively delighted to receive your invitation, you know. It has been too long since I last visited your charming manor."

Peliah smiled politely, though her memories of Soron's last visit were less than agreeable. "Please enjoy yourself," she said, gesturing toward the long, elaborately decorated tables.

She tried to draw her hand away, but he latched onto it. "Actually, I was wondering if you'd like to dance," he said hastily.

Peliah froze. Dancing? Nobody had mentioned anything about dancing.

As she stood there, deliberating, the fiddle ensemble in the corner of the room struck up a traditional dancing tune. Soron bared his disagreeable teeth and offered her his arm. She had no choice but to take it.

Around and around the room they whirled. Peliah felt extremely awkward because no one else was dancing. How could they? She was the only lady at the party. To make matters worse, she'd never danced before.

As they passed Minegaur, he beamed up at them mid-conversation with Urun Jeles, Soron's father.

Soron jerked Peliah around like a ragdoll. She couldn't have taken the lead even if she'd wanted to.

Before long, however, there was a tap on Soron's shoulder. It was Tarul Ivon, another lad of slaving stock whom Peliah had known from childhood. "May I cut in?" he asked, smiling.

Soron relinquished Peliah with a sour look.

Tarul was gentler with her, but there was something in his expression that made her uncomfortable. "How are you this evening, lovely lady?" he simpered.

"Fine, thank you," said Peliah, with a touch of chill.

"Just fine?" the lad asked. Very abruptly, he stopped dancing and pulled her into his arms. She was so surprised that she didn't resist.

"How about now?" he whispered, then kissed her ear.

Peliah stiffened. Tarul's grip on her arm was uncomfortably tight and he smelled like he hadn't bathed in a week or so.

Without commenting on the kiss, she wriggled out of his grasp. "I must go and attend to my other guests. Please, excuse me," she said, sweeping away before he could object.

Before anyone else could ask her to dance, she disappeared behind a noisy crowd of guests and plopped down in her father's favorite armchair. She shook her head and took a few deep, calming breaths, trying to forget Tarul's awful smell and the feel of his broad, slimy lips on her ear. What did he think, that she would enjoy being kissed by a man she barely knew?

Suddenly something brushed her elbow. She looked up, certain that she would see some nobleman come to ask her to dance, but there was no one. The crowd blocking her view of the room was as oblivious to her presence as ever.

Then she felt it again. This time she was startled. She had only looked away for a moment. Still, there was no one there.

She stared determinedly at her elbow. After a few moments, something covered in ashy brown fur flicked over the arm of the chair and brushed her skin.

Peliah threw a hand over her mouth to stifle a laugh. Why, it was Kazagh's tail! He must be hiding under the armchair!

Something patted her foot. She peered over the edge of the chair in time to see Kazagh's hand disappear beneath it.

Now she had to bite her knuckle to keep from laughing aloud. How like Kazagh, to try and make her laugh at a time like this. What did he think he was doing? Someone was sure to see him.

Seized by a sudden impulse, she reached over the arm of the chair, thrust her hand beneath it, and wiggled her fingers. Sure enough, she felt Kazagh's warm fur.

Trying not to giggle, she withdrew her hand and looked around her. No one seemed to have noticed what she'd done. After a few moments, she tried it again. This time she didn't feel anything.

Confused, she glanced around her. If Kazagh wasn't under the chair, where was he?

Suddenly a fuzzy brown tail lashed out from beneath the sofa across the room.

Peliah gasped. How in the world had he gotten over there so quickly? And judging by the continued contented drone of the party guests, he hadn't been seen.

Peliah squinted around the room, determined to spot Kazagh's next move. A movement near the corner of one of the tables caught her eye, but it turned out to be one of the guests loading his plate. Then she saw the closet door in the entryway swing shut on what appeared to be its own accord.

She got to her feet slowly, so as not to draw too much attention to herself. Two guests accosted her on her way across the room, but she managed to escape them after exchanging a few brief words. She stood near the closet door in the entryway for a long time, smiling vaguely. Then, when she was quite sure no one was watching her, she wrenched the door open, slithered inside, and eased it shut behind her.

It was pitch black. Then she felt a hand on her shoulder. "Sera has a sharp eye."

Though she had known Kazagh was in there somewhere, she still jumped. "Kazagh! You scared me."

He chuckled. "My apologies, Sera. But khajiit is glad that you followed."  
"Why did you go into the closet?" Peliah asked curiously.

Kazagh hesitated for a moment, then said, "A secret. Would Sera like to see?"

She nodded, then remembered that he probably couldn't see her in the dark. But he grabbed her by the hand and guided her away from the closet door. Apparently his eyesight was much keener than her own.

There was a grating sound and the closet was filled with dim, yellowish light. Kazagh had opened a tiny door near the floor, hidden behind a row of old boots. It revealed a narrow tunnel, not unlike a laundry chute.

Peliah gaped at him in amazement. Then she knelt down and peered down the tunnel. It went straight along the wall for a few feet, then dipped down and out of sight.

"Does this lead to the kitchen?" she asked excitedly. Her eyes were wide with astonishment.

"And the slave quarters, Sera. It is how khajiit is sneaking up to the library as a boy without passing through the kitchen and getting seen by the mother."

"So your family lives down there?" Peliah asked.

Kazagh nodded. "To the right are the slave quarters, where khajiit sleep. To the left, the kitchen and the cellar."

"Oh, won't you take me down there, Kazagh?" Peliah begged. For years she had wondered where he and the slaves worked, ate, and slept.

But Kazagh shook his head. "Khajiit is going down there. Sera is staying here."

"You're leaving me here?" Peliah squeaked. "But I want to meet your family."

Kazagh smiled ruefully. "That is not such a good idea, Sera. The father would not like it if he found out."

"He won't find out," Peliah said impatiently. "I won't tell him. You won't tell him. Nobody will tell him. Come on, please?"

The khajiit laughed at her enthusiasm, though it secretly pleased him. "Sera, down there is no place for a good dunmer girl," he teased, chucking her chin affectionately.

Peliah blushed and pushed his hand away. "I don't care," she said. "In case you haven't noticed, I don't want to be a good dunmer girl."

Kazagh snorted at this. "What about the party?" he asked, his voice heavy with mock gravity. Though he was frowning at her, his eyes sparkled.

"You think I care about some dumb party?" she demanded. "I only care about—" she turned away, blushing furiously. She had been quite ready to say "you."

Kazagh frowned. He lashed his tail back and forth, as though he were trying to make up his mind.

"You've seen my world," Peliah said quietly, taking him by the hand. "Now I want to see yours."

Kazagh glanced down at their interlocked fingers and smiled gently. "Well…"

Suddenly Peliah leaned forward and pressed her lips to Kazagh's wet, cool nose. She wasn't sure what made her do it.

If her face had been pink before, now it was cherry red. She sat back on her heels and covered her mouth with her hand. _Oh, why oh why did I do that_? she thought desperately.

Kazagh gaped at her. He wasn't sure if the young Sera had really kissed him, or if he had simply imagined it.

Peliah looked at the floor, certain that Kazagh must think her a fool. "Sorry," she mumbled miserably.

But his face split into a wide grin. He grabbed Peliah's hand and drew it away from her mouth. Then, still grinning, he leaned forward and kissed the tip of her nose. His lips were warm and soft.

Peliah smiled shyly and turned her face away from him.

Kazagh chuckled. Then he gestured toward the tiny doorway.

"You mean I can come with you?" Peliah exclaimed, forgetting her embarrassment instantly.

"Khajiit supposes so," Kazagh said, still grinning. "But Sera must not be gone long. The father will wonder where she is wandering off to."

Beaming, Peliah attempted to crawl through the narrow entrance. But Kazagh intercepted her, wrapping his long-fingered hands around her waist.

"This one will go first," he said. "There is a fall."

He brushed past Peliah and army crawled down the shaft. After a few seconds he fell out of sight.

"Your turn," his honey-and-sandpaper voice echoed up the shaft.

Peliah crawled in after him. It was really quite lucky that she was as skinny as she was; even so, her shoulders got stuck once or twice. She reached what appeared to be the end of the shaft and saw that it dropped straight down. Kazagh stood at the bottom, his arms outstretched.

Squeezing her eyes shut, Peliah slid down the tunnel. Cool air rushed past her and she landed in Kazagh's arms.

She opened her eyes and saw him smiling down at her. "Sera wasn't frightened?" he asked.

"No," she said stoutly. Her heart rate increased as she stared into his eyes.

"Good," he said. He set her on her feet. "This way."

They walked down a long, stone hallway. At the end of it there were three doors. Kazagh opened the one in the middle and stepped inside.

"Kazagh!" came a tiny, squeaky voice. "_riquir a sistar poqi_—"

Peliah stepped into the room.

A tiny khajiiti girl stood near one of the shabby beds that lined the wall. Her fur was as black as ebony and twice as shiny. As soon as she saw Peliah, her mouth fell open, revealing a set of tiny, needle-sharp teeth. She let out a startled wail.

Kazagh sprang across the room and covered her mouth with his hand. "_Jurnos kaskas tair a novir_," he said urgently. "Shhhh."

The girl wriggled out of his grasp and stared at Peliah with wide, fearful eyes.

Peliah knew that the girl had every reason to be afraid of her, but she was still wounded by her reaction. She wanted to run out of the room. Better that than impose her company on someone who clearly did not want it.

Kazagh spoke again, this time in Dunmeri. "Sera, this is the sister, Khiri."

Khiri looked up at her brother in terror. Her whiskers trembled as though she were about to cry.

"Khiri, this is the little Sera," Kazagh went on. He enunciated each word carefully, as though she did not understand the language well.

"Call me Peliah," the elven maiden said in what she hoped was a friendly tone.

"Peliah," Kazagh repeated. He smiled.

But Khiri turned her face away from Peliah and buried it in her brother's shirt.

Peliah felt terrible. She jammed her hands in her pockets. Her right hand brushed up against something hard. It was a lollipop. She had taken it from a tray at the party, intending to eat it later.

It gave her an idea. "Will you give this to her?" she asked, taking it out of her pocket and offering it to Kazagh.

Khiri turned her head. Her eyes widened at the sight of the shiny red lollipop. She looked at Kazagh uncertainly, then pointed at it.

"Yes, for you," Kazagh said, smiling.

"Here." Peliah walked forward with the lollipop extended.

Khiri regarded her very seriously. Then she reached out, quick as a flash, and snatched the candy. She jammed it into her mouth, wriggled under Kazagh's arm, and pressed her face into his shirt.

Peliah couldn't help but smile.

"You see, Khiri?" Kazagh said. "This one is kind."

The girl peeked around Kazagh's stomach and smiled bashfully. She had the cutest wee nose and the prettiest blue eyes.

"She's beautiful," Peliah said softly.

Kazagh beamed at Peliah; his eyes sparkled. Then he cleared his throat. "This one is _trouble_," he amended, tickling Khiri's tummy. The girl giggled and kicked.

"How old are you, Khiri?" Peliah asked.

She smiled shyly and looked at the ground. Then she raised her left hand and wiggled her chubby little fingers.

"One more," Kazagh prompted.

She lifted her right thumb.

"Six?" Peliah asked.

Khiri nodded. Then she pulled the lolli out of her mouth with a wet _pop_ and offered it to Kazagh.

"No, thank you, little one," Kazagh said affectionately.

Khiri stuffed it back in her mouth. Then she spoke. Her voice was garbled from the candy. "_Marbar tuqinon zandrhos—"_ she stopped and glanced at Peliah. "The—The mother say she looking for Kazagh."

Kazagh's brow furrowed. "Why?"

She shrugged. "Khiri knows not. She go to…" she wrinkled her nose. "She go to… horse place. _Quinrhotar._"

Kazagh pressed his ears against his head in apparent alarm.

"What's wrong?" Peliah asked.

"The mother is looking for this one. And now she knows he is not at the stable, where he should be."

Peliah's heart sank. "Will you be in trouble?"

Kazagh groaned.

Suddenly the door burst open. A tall, thin-faced khajiiti woman stood there, her ears pressed flat against her head.

As her eyes raked over Peliah, a low growl sounded in her throat.


End file.
